The Lift Game
by Kayar Chance
Summary: WARNING: ELEVATOR SEX! Every day I ride the lift to my office, and one day Sherlock decides to tag along. He calls it the Lift Game. I can't wait to see how far we can go-and it doesn't hurt that I'm naturally competitive. (A glimpse into Sherlock's not-so-subtle courting of Janine)


_**Author's Note: This idea came to me about halfway through "His Last Vow", during the scene where Sherlock and John try to sneak into Magnussen's office. I rather liked the character of Janine, I felt that she got to experience something that nobody else ever thought Sherlock capable of (no spoilers!), and I wanted to expand on that.**_

 _ **This starts out rather short and tame, so as to give the reader a bit of an idea of what is in store. I hope it provides some fun.**_

* * *

I have a reputation as something of a bitch, in my office.

The Ice Queen. Seriously, I've overheard people calling me Mab, Queen of Air and Darkness. It's not very many ladies who actually have a Shakespearean title to go along with their mockery.

I suppose I can be somewhat frigid. It comes with the territory, being the Personal Assistant of the man who runs the place. GM Global News is not the kind of place where you allow petty things like your own personal humanity get in the way of office politics. It's a bit of a cold, dry place. The décor goes right along with it, all chrome and glass. You don't even want to put your fingers on your own touchscreen desk for fear of leaving smudges.

So when Sherlock decided to sneak into the place Monday morning—barely 48 hours into John and Mary's honeymoon—he didn't just stick out like a sore thumb. He was a flamethrower inside an ice cave.

Sherlock also has a reputation of being cold, but I don't see that. More importantly, I don't feel it (yes, there _is_ a woman in this country who isn't shy about her feelings towards men, and I am she.) You just have to actually get through the first hour of talking to him.

Considering the events of the wedding, I was by his side most of the night.

But anyway. On to the Lift Game.

During the morning rush you don't need security keycards for most of the building. You have to walk past at least four doormen to make it to the lift, where you'll find a fifth doorman who is willing to press the Up button as if you're too bored to push it yourself. Security is all done the old fashioned way, with human interaction.

Human error. That's what Sherlock calls it. I suppose that whenever he sees it in a security system, he just has to play around with it.

"Play along," is what he said to me the first time he snuck in, half a step behind me, nodding to the doormen like he belonged there.

I was perplexed, a little scared for him—the building has twelve different layers of security that I know of, and I'm pretty sure there are more—but I could also see that look in his eye. That mischievous playfulness.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"I'm calling it the Lift Game."

So yeah, I went along with it. Crowding into the lift with eight others, everyone in suits and ties, and Sherlock standing in the back corner behind me, out of place with his long coat and scarf. Nobody wanted to say anything about the oddly dressed newcomer. Too polite. Too cramped.

Too many people staring off into space, not realizing that he was placing his hand just below my office-skirted bum.

 _Oh, you cheeky bastard_ , I thought. Nervousness shot through me and I froze, eyes wide. There were cameras in here. There were microphones. There were people.

There were still twenty some-odd floors to go.

And his hand was rising

The lift stopped. Some disembarked, some stayed, we continued to rise.

I stayed exactly where I was. The irony wasn't lost on me—the office ice queen, frozen in place while this man with fingertips of molten iron lifted my skirt with a magician's sleight, teasing me, touching me, with no one else the wiser.

Eventually the last of our company reached their floor. She looked back at us—at _him_ —and asked, "Going higher?"

I couldn't say anything. One word and I was done.

"I'm one below Miss Hawkins," he said, pressing the button for level 27. "I believe she rather likes considering herself above me."

I bit my tongue on a 'Being On Top' remark. Who says I can't control my snark?

The doors closed.

We were alone.

"What the hell are you up to?" I hissed, stepping away from the lovely warmth of that hand. "You're going to get me in trouble!"

"Trouble? Nah." He looked up at where the cameras undoubtedly were. "Maybe a scolding. Besides, I'm new here. People get turned around in buildings this big all the time."

 _Ding._

The lift stopped. The doors opened.

Sherlock Holmes extended his hand to me. "It was a pleasure riding with you, Miss Hawkins." When I grasped his hand, I felt a folded up slip of paper wedge itself perfectly into my palm. Sherlock Holmes must have been a demon at passing notes in class.

And with nothing more than a ridiculously adorable wink, Sherlock Holmes exited the lift, and I was left with a secret note to read once I got to my office.

All in all, it was a delightfully frisky way to start the workday.

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 _ **Chapter two is in the works, but in the meantime…please review, let me know what you think!**_


End file.
